


Champagne on a Saturday Morning

by sahiya



Category: White Collar
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-14
Updated: 2011-07-14
Packaged: 2017-10-21 09:53:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/223879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sahiya/pseuds/sahiya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was a rare Saturday that Sara didn't work - but today, she thought she just might make an exception.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Champagne on a Saturday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fill for ozqueen's prompt at the [Awesome Ladies of White Collar Fest](http://wc-women-fest.livejournal.com/904.html): "Sara - a rainstorm, a bottle of wine, and Neal." Many thanks to via_ostiense for beta reading.

It was a rare Saturday that Sara didn’t work. Saturdays were a good time to tail someone while they were out or set up surveillance on an empty house. She was less likely to be noticed if she was simply part of the throng, and frankly, until quite recently, work was usually her most compelling option on a Saturday morning. Sara loved her work. It was fun, it was challenging, it was just slightly illegal, and it gave her the adrenaline rush she craved. The money wasn’t a bad incentive, either; while her married colleagues spent their weekends at Cub Scout meetings and soccer games, she could make $10k on a decent recovery.

But today, Sara thought she might just make an exception.

Neal had taken her out the night before to a tiny, trendy French bistro and then he’d stayed over. It was only the third time they’d spent the night together, not counting the time she’d had to sneak out and then make up for it by bringing him coffee. Sara didn’t generally encourage the men she slept with to stay the night, and with Neal in particular she thought she should have been wary - he had a history of theft in general, after all, not to mention a history of stealing from her specifically - but the night was cold and her bed was warmer with him in it. It was a weakness, but one she thought she might learn to live with.

“I have to work tomorrow,” she told him, after the sex was over. She was letting him spoon her; his legs were tucked behind hers, and he’d draped his arm across her torso. One of his fingers played idly back and forth across her nipple. She’d been less surprised that Neal Caffrey was a cuddler than she’d been that she didn’t mind all that much. In the past, with other lovers, she’d minded.

He kissed her shoulder. “Seriously? It’s Saturday.”

“What, you never work on the weekends?”

“Only when Peter makes me,” he said. “Work to live, Repo, don’t live to work.”

“Sure, conman,” she said. “Tell you what: give me the Raphael and I won’t work weekends.” With the money she’d make from that recovery, she could afford to take as much time off as she wanted. Not that she would. What would she do with that much free time? Write a novel? Make a quilt? No, thank you.

“Mmm,” Neal said, sounding conveniently sleepy, “you should take tomorrow off anyway. It’s supposed to rain.”

“I have a coat,” Sara said, and turned the light off, ending the conversation.

She woke early the next morning to Neal’s hand dipping between her legs, while his lips, tongue, and teeth explored the arch of her neck between her ear and her collarbone. “Mm,” she murmured, and bent her knee to give him better access. “Is this a shameless bid to get me to let you stay over again?”

“No,” Neal said, one finger circling her clit, “it’s a shameless bid to get you to stay in bed with me.” He traced the shell of her ear with his tongue and she shivered. “It’s raining,” he whispered, and now that he’d said it, she could hear that it was, a steady patter against her windows with the occasional distant rumble of thunder, “and you should stay here.” He slid two fingers inside of her, crooked them, and brushed her clit with his thumb.

“You make a compelling argument,” Sara said, breathlessly. Neal laughed, a little breathless himself. She could feel his erection pressing against her ass, and she was tempted to reach back and guide him inside of her, but she bit her lip instead, forcing herself to wait. He was fiendishly good with his hands. “But you know,” she added, struggling to keep her voice even, “I don’t know that it’s quite compelling enough.”

“You drive a hard bargain,” Neal said, and pressed firmly on her clit. She felt the first sparks of orgasm in her fingers and toes, but he eased off too quickly and she was left shivering along its edges. “Did I mention I brought champagne?”

Sara raised her eyebrows. “No, you didn’t.”

“I did. Champagne and orange juice. Sneaked it in when you weren’t looking.” He slid his hand up the inside of her thigh, and she gave in. She bent her leg further in invitation, and he leaned forward and slid inside of her in one smooth thrust. Her orgasm sparked along her nerves again, but Neal, maddeningly, refused to move. She squeezed her eyes shut until her head cleared, and then tensed certain strategic muscles. The way he gasped into the back of her neck was satisfying, but the way he thrust inside of her was more satisfying still. “But that can wait,” he managed.

“Good boy,” she murmured. Neal snorted and rolled his hips in retaliation; Sara shuddered, and then, for a while, there was no more talking, save for words like _more_ and _yes_ and - once, from Neal - _please_. Sara kept her eyes open, watching the rain pour down her window, until her orgasm swept over her. Behind her, Neal groaned and came, his fingers digging painfully into Sara’s hip.

Afterward, Sara lay with Neal draped partially over her, enjoying the little tremors and aftershocks of her orgasm and listening as their breathing gradually slowed. “Not bad, Repo,” Neal said at last, with a yawn.

“Flattery will get you nowhere, conman,” she replied, poking him in the ribs. “You promised me champagne and orange juice.” He laughed and sat up, and she craned her neck around to watch as he got up, naked, and padded first into the bathroom and then toward the kitchen. She lounged in her bed, which smelled of sex and Neal, and listened to the rain. It was coming down even harder now, with no signs of lessening any time soon, and the rumbles of thunder sounded closer. It really was a wretched morning for scoping out a suspect’s security system.

Neal returned, champagne flutes in hand. He handed Sara hers and then sprawled - carefully, so as not to spill - across the foot of her bed. He was, Sara admitted to herself, extremely decorative, and he wasn’t a bad conversationalist either. He was, in his own way, rather . . . sweet. Sara wasn’t sure she had a sweet tooth yet, but she suspected she might be developing one.

She sipped her mimosa. “Mmm. Awfully sure of yourself, weren’t you?”

He shrugged. “It pays to be prepared.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Ah. So this is Neal Caffrey Seduction Scenario #42?”

He looked a little wounded - which really only made him look prettier, damn him. “No.” She arched the eyebrow further and he sighed. “It might’ve been part of a plan to convince you not to kick me out by ten o’clock. But isn’t this much more pleasurable than going to work on a Saturday morning in this weather?”

Sara frowned. “There’s more than one kind of pleasure. I like what I do.”

“So do I. But I like other things more.” He lay back on the bed, closed his eyes, and said, “Okay. Repo. Tell me about a time you were truly happy.”

Sara rolled her eyes. “What is this, Truth or Dare?”

Neal laughed. “Like I would ever play Truth or Dare with you. It’d only end in one of us getting arrested.”

“You mean it would end in you getting arrested,” Sara replied dryly.

“Probably,” Neal admitted. “I’m just asking. Tell me about a time you were truly happy.”

He was looking at her like he actually wanted to know, blue eyes serious and focused. If he was conning her, she couldn’t tell. She look away. “The day I graduated from Smith,” she said, staring out the window. “Both my parents were there, and for once I felt like they were thinking about me and not about my sister.”

Neal said nothing, but she felt his hand slide over to cover her foot. “Thanksgiving,” he said, after a long silence, “a couple of months after I got out. Peter and El had me over, and it was just the three of us. It took me awhile to figure out that I was happy, really happy, but I was.”

He looked sad, for some reason, and Sara nudged him with her foot, playfully. “Yeah, okay, what’s your point, Caffrey?”

He shrugged. “No point. But you’ll notice that neither of our moments involved _work_ in any way. Don’t get me wrong,” he added, before she could open her mouth, “I’m glad you like your job. I like mine, too. But,” he said, leaning over to put his champagne flute on the floor beside the bed, “I like other things better. You, for instance.” He crawled up the bed in two graceful moves, took her flute away from her and set it on the nightstand, and leaned down to kiss her. He threaded his fingers into her hair, thumb rubbing slowly over her temples. All the breath leaked out of her in an involuntary sigh. They were a bubble of warmth on a cold, wet morning, and she gave up trying to tell herself that she wanted to be anywhere else.

Still, it wouldn’t do to give in too quickly. “More flattery,” she finally said, when she could think.

Neal’s lips quirked. “You’ve been dating the wrong men if you think it’s flattery for me to say that I like you more than my job.”

“It’s not even a real job,” Sara pointed out. “It’s a work release. Are you even supposed to like it?”

Neal shrugged. “Well, I do like it. But I like this,” he trailed a hand up the inside of her thigh, “ _you_ , more. You’re a beautiful woman and I’m in your bed on a Saturday morning. What isn’t there to love about that?”

“Hmm,” Sara said, linking her hands around Neal’s neck. “Well, I suppose there’s always this afternoon or tomorrow.”

“Or Monday,” Neal said, settling between her thighs. “I hear Monday is traditional.”

Sara smiled. “Hmm. You’ll have to convince me. Are you up for the challenge?”

“Always,” Neal said, and kissed her.

 _Fin._


End file.
